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any more than you can wish away those green eyes that so captivated me.
    I remember the folded piece of paper he handed me and open it. The moon’s light is just bright enough that I can read his words. They’re stark black letters, typewritten, on the page, but that just belies the emotion and melancholy that accompanies them.
    The note pulls at my heart, and I feel tears spill over as I read. He talks about having a “clean heart” when he gets married. Oh, carino , your heart isn’t dirty because you want something she can’t give you. I wish I could make you understand.
    But the part that really makes me hurt deep down inside, an almost physical ache, is when Andy confesses his hope that he can change. I know firsthand how impossible that will be for him. And I can see into his future, into this life he will have with the innocent “girl,” Alison, and the pain that’s in store for both of them.
    It doesn’t have to be that way, Andy. You’ll hurt her if you back out now, but in the long run, you will all be better off.
    How can I know that? Maybe Andy is the one in a million who can make the lie work. Maybe, deep down, he’ll be miserable the rest of his life, but he’ll make Alison, none the wiser, happy and be a good dad to the children he hopes to father with her.
    I know what the odds are, and I don’t have high hopes for Andy or his future.
    I slip down from the rocks because I’m finally getting too cold. I will go home, and yes, I will masturbate thinking of Andy, completing what was begun in his cramped little studio in the much wider and more open space of my imagination. There, there will be no hesitation, no guilt. There we will couple like animals, devouring each other in our lust, and it will be okay. It will be natural. I will enter him and will feel the gripping, smooth heat of his hole as it tightens around my cock in joy and passion. And in my head and in my hands, I will spurt.
    I think of communion, “This is my body,” and push the thought away.
    After, I’ll try and forget Mr. Andy. I’ll begin a new regimen for work and get in at least a half hour sooner each day, taking the train earlier so chance will not afford us the possibility of meeting again. I can do that much for Andy, give him that much.
    And I will pray for him. First that he has the wisdom to not move forward with his plans, to recognize that he cannot be someone he isn’t. Not really. Not deep down inside.
    Maybe he’ll wise up.
    Maybe I’ll still be around, waiting.
    Maybe not.
    But I will also pray that, if he does go through with his wedding and the years of marriage that will follow, he will somehow come to terms with his desires and find a measure of comfort in the love of his wife and the companionship I hope she will offer.
    I head up South Boulevard and see the train tracks ahead. I quicken my pace, now in a hurry to get back to my little apartment in Bridgeport. I’ll be safe there, and I’ll do my best to put this episode behind me, shaken as I am by it.
    I cross the street and hurry into the station as I hear the rumble of an approaching train. I pause before the ticket window and promise myself:
    I will live an honest life. For myself. For Andy. And I will steer clear of men who cannot do the same.

C HAPTER 7: A NDY
     
     
    F OR A long time, all I could do was lie on my bed and stare at the flickering images on television, letting its pale light wash over me. I muted the sound, so it was just the images. The officers of the Hill Street station chased another bad guy in what looked like the area just south of me, at Wilson and Broadway. After a time, though, the images ran together, blurred by tears and my own inability to understand myself.
    I knew I should have been happy. The biggest day of my life was only a few weeks away. All my family would be here from Ohio. My older sister, Annette, would read from Corinthians at the service. My little sister, Kay, would walk down the aisle as Alison’s